


I Didn't Love You First

by raeldaza



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comebferre has a bookshop and a kitten, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeldaza/pseuds/raeldaza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an extremely poor first meeting, Courfeyrac and Combeferre despise each other, much to mutual best friend Enjolras' distress.<br/>Or, maybe just Courfeyrac hates Combeferre.<br/>Or, maybe they are sort of friends.<br/>Or, maybe there is something more going on there.</p><p>AKA, how a relationship can evolve through forgiveness, kindness, time, and mutual love of puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Didn't Love You First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiyala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/gifts).



> For Kii, because they made me ship these two. And like, maybe, I attempted to write them a story for Christmas and like, maybe, didn't finish it. And like, maybe, I also attempted another for Valentines, and like, maybe didn't finish. So, hey, even though you didn't even know, here you go! Finally finished! 
> 
> The zoo part has a nod to the great e/r fic "[this is fact not fiction](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2760791)" by [Rianne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rianne/pseuds/Rianne) with the llama, and the thing with the "mane" is directly from Hugo describing Enjolras (because let's face it, Hugo totally had a massive crush on Enjolras)
> 
> I wrote this because I like the idea that people can make mistakes, but more importantly, those mistakes can be forgiven and forgotten. And when you take that step to accept a sincere apology, you can more forward and great things can come out of it. 
> 
> It's a little antagonistic...Sorry? But, I promise, it ends with kisses and love and stuff like that.

Combeferre was bored.

He had already gone out and had dinner, cleaned and disinfected his entire apartment, read half a book, listened to a new CD, and flipped mindlessly through fifty television stations, and it was only 8PM. He had flipped off his TV about three minutes earlier, and had no idea how to occupy his time.

This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.

He thought briefly about calling Joly, before he remembered that the small nurse was working the night shift. Sighing lightly, he settled back into his couch, and contented himself with watching the rain trickle silently down his window, the soft light of his floor lamp barely illuminating the wall to which the window was placed.

He was content, but he was bored, which was why he was more than pleased when his cell vibrated on the coffee table next to him. Grabbing it, he smiled widely at the name he hadn’t seen in at least two weeks. As soon as he accepted the call and took a breath for a greeting, Enjolras’ high, melodic voice rung through.

“I have fantastic news.” He could hear some type of noise in the background, something like a blender.

“Hello to you too,” Combeferre said, smiling despite himself.

“Hello,” Enjolras said, obviously impatient. Combeferre snorted.

“Alright, alright, I made you wait an entire twelve seconds. What’s up?”

“I got a job. Well, no, wait, technically Courfeyrac and I both got jobs.”

“Congratulations,” Combeferre said, sitting up a little straighter. “Wow, that’s exciting. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s not the exciting part.”

“It’s not? You’ve only been out of law school for a month and a half—”

“No, Combeferre, it’s _where_ we got jobs.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What place hired you?”

“It’s a great firm, works a lot of pro-bono, and has great ethics, not the point. The firm is on Lupaldi street.” Combeferre sucked in a breath.

“You’re coming back?” He couldn’t help the excited lint to his voice.

“We’re coming back,” Enjolras confirmed, excitement palpable. The thrill in Combeferre twisted back down slightly at the pronoun.

“Right, Courfeyrac. He’s moving here too?”

“Yes, we’re getting a place together. He’s so excited to meet you and everyone and see everything.” In the background, a voice called “I am!” to which Enjolras laughed. “See?”

“You two are getting a place together?” Combeferre repeated, rubbing his eyes. Enjolras went quiet a moment. Combeferre could practically see him mentally put together the pieces. He knew him far too well.

“You don’t mind, do you? You have your own place, and I didn’t want to just invite myself to live with you, that would be rude and unfair. And Courfeyrac has never lived here before, and was nervous about living in a new town. If it bothers you—”

“No, it’s fine,” Combeferre said. Now was not the time to be an asshole about this. “I understand.” Enjolras was silent for a beat too long.

“You’re upset,” He said, sounding dismayed.

“No, I understand—”

“You understand but you’re upset.” Combeferre should really mention to him sometime about taking a hint when someone was trying to be nice.

“It’s okay—”

“No,” Enjolras interrupted again. That was something else Combeferre should really talk to him about, constantly forcing him to talk out all his emotions. That was probably healthy, though, as stupidly earnest about it was Enjolras was. He had never been like that before he met Courfeyrac. “If you’re upset we need to talk this out.”

“Okay, I am a little disappointed that you didn’t ask me about it, but I'm not kidding when I say I understand. We haven’t lived together since undergrad, and he’s been your roommate for the past four years. It makes sense.” And it did, although it didn’t make that little rejected feeling go away. But he was a stubborn person by nature, so he would take that little hurt feeling, put it in a safe in the back of his mind, padlock it, and throw away the key, and that’s all there would be to it.

“I honestly didn’t think you would want to live with me,” Enjolras said after a moment. “You’ve been on your own for four years, which has to be better than living with a roommate.”

“No, yeah, what was I thinking,” Combeferre said, trying to make his tone sound right. He wasn’t sure if he managed it. “Anyway, this isn’t important. You’re moving back to the city.” And really, that was the crucial bit. No matter whom Enjolras now considered his best friend, Combeferre’s best friend was moving back. He’d actually get to see him on a regular basis; he honestly was thrilled.

“I am. Since we were just staying at Courfeyrac’s, we’re leaving right away. Another week, Combeferre, and we’ll be there to see you everyday.”

“It’ll be great to finally be able to talk to you in person.” Combeferre felt a little petulant, playing the pronoun war, but Enjolras didn’t even seem to notice.

“I cannot wait for you to meet Courfeyrac. He’s really excited to meet you as well.” Once again, a loud, overexcited “I am!” came through from the background.

“I’m looking forward to meet him as well.” Thrilled to meet the man who completely replaced me, Combeferre kept to himself, as he had for the past four years.

“You’re going to love him. Want to meet up the day we get back? We could probably do, like, oh, nine o’clock at the Musain, on the twelfth?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Combeferre said. “That’s doable.”

“Great! I can’t believe you two have never met. It’s been over four years. He’s been my closest friend for all of law school.”

“Instead of me, of course,” Combeferre tried to joke, but he didn’t think it came off exactly right.

“Him and you, of course. I am just as excited for him to meet you, you know.”

“Right, of course,” Combeferre muttered, running a hand through his short, black hair. “Look, I should go.”

“Oh?” Enjolras said, sounding dejected. “Okay, fine. Do what you must do.”

“Enjolras?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m really glad you’re coming back,” Combeferre said softly, meaning every word.

“Me too. It’s been too long, my friend.”

“Goodbye.” Combeferre touched the “end” button before hiding his head in his hands, and trying not to groan loudly.

The truth was, he was incredibly happy that his best friend would be back in town, and they could start having real conversations again, and stop with the half done Skype sessions and bad phone calls that never seemed to last long enough. But he had thought – hoped – that when Enjolras came back, it might be sans Courfeyrac. He completely realized how unbelievably selfish this wish was, and he knew it was completely irrational. He just could never imagine the two of them forming any sort of friendship. But, as apparently Enjolras and Courfeyrac were now a package deal, and he was unwilling to lose Enjolras, he evidently would have to suck it up, and learn how to make friends.

Groaning, he fell back into the couch, turned off the lamp blindly, and decided to lie there until he got a control over his wayward emotions. Outside, the thunder boomed, and somehow, it sounded mocking.

 

“Why on earth would you tell him we would meet him at 9AM?” Courfeyrac glared at Enjolras, while absentmindedly throwing more spinach into the blender.

“What was wrong with that?” Enjolras asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s 9AM,” Courfeyrac whined. “I’ll hardly be awake by then. I’ll be bleary eyed and bushy haired. And if I’m going to meet Combeferre, I need to be at my most awake, charming self.”

“Then get up earlier,” Enjolras replied, settling into a bar stool across from him. Courfeyrac made a face.

“Ew, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you, I just disapprove of your morning habits.” Enjolras laughed as Courfeyrac threw spinach at him. “Really, though, Combeferre is the least judgmental person in the world. If you came in looking half starved and like you hadn’t slept in a week, he’s just buy you a sandwich and wrap a blanket around your shoulders.”

“Which is _exactly why_ I have to make a good impression!” Courfeyrac said, voice climbing. Enjolras looked at him blankly.

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s a good person. He’s your favorite person. I need to make a good impression. If I’m half asleep and making garbling noises instead of being intelligent and witty, he’ll think I’m a fish and a terrible person.”

“Courfeyrac, you’re being dramatic.” Instead of protesting with a joke as Enjolras expected, Courfeyrac just started at the contents of the blender for a moment, frowning slightly, fingers absentmindedly drumming on the table.

“Maybe,” he said eventually. “This is important to me. He’s been your best friend since middle school, and we have never even talked. You’ll be my only friend in the city, and I really don’t want to mess up my first shot at making more.”

“You won’t,” Enjolras promised, reaching across the bar to tap him on the hand. “Please don’t stress about this. Combeferre is the most low-key person in the world. Unless you get him mad, of course, and then he is a wrecking machine of rhetoric and piercing words, but there is nothing you could do to invite that. He reserves that for assholes, which you could never be.”

“I could be,” Courfeyrac protested.

“Not to anyone good,” Enjolras said. Courfeyrac shrugged.

“Do you have the cucumber?” He asked, blatantly shifting the topic.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, handing it over. “What are you making, anyway?”

“We’re moving out in two weeks. We need to get rid of all the food in the fridge, so I am using all the vegetables up in a smoothie.”

“You can enjoy that by yourself,” Enjolras said, smirking.

Courfeyrac scowled at him.

* * *

 “Your hands are shaking,” Enjolras said, staring at them. “Are you alright?”

Courfeyrac shrugged, curling them into fists. After a moment, Enjolras looked under the table.

“Courfeyrac, you’re shaking your leg.”

“I’m nervous,” he said, snapping slightly.

“You never get nervous. Need I remind you how many times you talked me down from freaking out about law school?”

“I’m nervous,” he repeated. “How long do we have?”

“It’s three to nine.”

“I can’t just sit here,” Coureyrac muttered. He shook his head, and then slammed his hands down on the table. “I’m going to go get a coffee, okay?”

“Do you really need _more_ caffeine? You had three cups to wake you up, need I remind you."

“I need to do _something_ ,” He replied, scraping his chair back and standing. Enjolras sighed, flipping his phone back and forth in his hands.

“He is rarely, if ever, late, and he would have texted me if he was going to be. He should be here any moment.”

Courfeyrac ignored him and went up to the counter, where he began to nervously sign the alphabet with his left hand as he ordered another coffee. Enjolras shook his head watching him, but moved his gaze when he heard the door open.

“Combeferre!” He called, waving, a wide smile breaking across his face. Combeferre nodded to him, and walked over.

“Right on time,” Enjolras greeted him. “You’re usually early. The years have changed you, my friend.”

“I was delayed,” Combeferre said, taking the seat Courfeyrac had been in. “I promise, I haven’t changed that much.”

“I’m glad,” Enjolras said, smile crinkling his eyes. “I have missed seeing you in person.”

“And I you, of course. Isn’t there supposed to be another person here?”

“Courfeyrac is up getting another coffee,” Enjolras said, pointing at the pick up counter, where Courfeyrac’s back was turned where he was waiting.

“Ah,” Combeferre said, turning.

“Oh, look, he’s just got his drink.” They both watched as Courfeyrac collected a cup of steaming coffee, and turned. When he saw Combeferre in his chair, he did a slight double take. Combeferre gave a short wave, at which Courfeyrac gave a large smile, and bounded over.

“You must be Combeferre!” Courfeyrac said, the volume making Combeferre wince back slightly. Courfeyrac was standing almost directly over where he was sitting, so Combeferre had to crane his head up to look him in the face. “It’s so good to finally meet you!” At that, he brought up his free hand to put forward to shake. He accidentally hit the corner of the cup, though, and the force of it made his grasp slip. He could only watch in frozen horror as the ceramic cup fell from his grasp and landed directly onto Combeferre’s head. He winced hard as he heard the crack as it collided with Combeferre’s skull, breaking the cup, and sending the scorching liquid all over his body.

“Jesus,” Combeferre shouted, his full body wincing. He grabbed onto his head. “Ow.”

“Oh my God, ‘Ferre, are you alright?” Enjolras asked, reaching forward to grab his shoulder, eyes wide in concern. Courfeyrac was still staring blankly, now covering his mouth with his hands, his brain trying desperately to deny that the last nine seconds had happened.

“Ow,” Combeferre replied, holding his head in his hands. At that, Enjolras looked up at Courfeyrac, face moving into a _why aren’t you helping him?_ expression.

“I’m so sorry,” Courfeyrac said, jerking into action, mortification turning his entire face bright red, and actually making his heart squeeze. “I’m so sorry, it just slipped out of my hand.”

“Ow,” Combeferre repeated.

“Can I help you clean up? What can I do?” Courfeyrac said, bending down to look him straight on, now feeling a bit frantic with humiliation and concern.

“Nothing, no, I am just going to go to the bathroom and clean myself up. The coffee is starting to dry and get sticky.” He stood, placing a hand on the table for a balance, a hand still holding his head.

“I’m so sorry,” Courfeyrac repeated. Embarrassingly, he could feel tears start to prickle in his eyes. Combeferre waved him off, and walked towards the bathroom. Courfeyrac sat down in that newly vacated seat, and put his face in his hands.

“Courf?” Enjolras said gently, after a few moments of silence.

“He’s going to hate me,” Courfeyrac said, voice muffled, and sounding suspiciously watery.

“No, he’s not. He’s not the type to care about that kind of thing.”

“I just want him to like me.” Courfeyrac said, voice muffled by his hands.

“He will,” Enjolras comforted, patting his arm. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Why did that have to be my first impression? Like, really.”

“It wasn’t on purpose, Courf,” Enjolras said. “He would know that.” Courfeyrac just shook his head.

“I’m going to go ask for some ice for his head.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and mentally willed his tears away. He could possibly salvage this, he reasoned with himself. He just needed nothing else to go wrong. He sidestepped the worker currently cleaning up the broken cup and spilled coffee, and went to the counter to get the ice.

 

  
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Combeferre was currently holding on to the sink with most of his might, regretting most of his life that lead him to this moment.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” he muttered to himself. He should have just gone home one of the nine times he had turned around on the way there. This was never, ever going to work.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said to himself, suddenly inexplicably angry. At himself, at the situation, at Courfeyrac for being genuinely nice and sweet and handsome when Combeferre had come here wanting to hate him.

He’d honestly expected them not to get along. Combeferre was not anti-social, but he definitely kept to himself. He loved deeply, if not widely. Courfeyrac, though, seemed his antithesis. In every story he heard secondhand, Courfeyrac was out doing something wondrous, with someone else, someone different, someone exciting and wonderful. He could see what someone like Enjolras, someone fierce and beautiful and worldly and perpetually moving, would have to offer Courfeyrac as a friend. Himself, though? He could just see himself being the barely tolerated third-wheel. The person that you invited because you had to, the uncomfortable old friend of Enjolras that he refused to let go of, because Enjolras couldn’t let go of anything. He imagined barely concealed contempt.

But Courfeyrac had seemed genuinely nice, and more than appropriately apologetic at a complete accident. His wide, green eyes, and wild dark curls made the picture a little clearer of how he managed to have a different significant other every month. He seemed sweet enough, which meant that he probably would probably invite Combeferre to everything, and make a valiant effort to like him, despite whether he actually did or not.

(The possibility that they could become genuine friends, and he could have been someone that Courfeyrac had sincerely liked never crossed his mind, the self worth problem being a rather difficult remnant from his middle and high school days.)

“Damn it all,” he sighed to himself, as he wetted paper towel to dab at the coffee on his chest. The awkwardness of the encounter, combined with the uncomfortable coffee remains and his immense agitation over this entire meeting, made Combeferre know that this wasn’t going to end well. He had a history of lashing out. But, he reasoned with himself, if he did get snippy, maybe he wouldn’t be forced into this situation again.

 

“Hey, here he comes,” Enjolras said, nudging Courfeyrac. He lifted his head to see Combeferre slip out of the bathroom, his cardigan now over his shoulder. Courfeyrac swallowed down his embarrassment.

“I got this for you,” Courfeyrac said, handing him a washcloth with ice. Combeferre waved it off.

“My head’s fine, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“I am. So, beyond being clumsy, tell me about yourself,” Combeferre said, strictly ignoring Enjolras’ surprised glance in his direction. Courfeyrac flushed.

“Well, I am sure Enjolras has told you a bit over the years.”

“A little. You’re a law student, always seem to be dating someone different, like to camp out in his room, and enjoy dogs a lot.” Courfeyrac shifted in his seat, feeling vaguely attacked. Enjolras was staring at Combeferre, expression getting more confused every second.

“All correct.”

“You’re also the one who brought him to all those parties even though he was incredibly uncomfortable with them, and made him miss his test that one day, which almost made him fail out of a class that was a pre-requisite for all his other law courses.”

“Combeferre,” Enjolras snapped, as Courfeyrac’s mouth dropped open.

“I was just trying to get him to have fun. You know how stressed he can be-” 

“And fun, for Enjolras, you decided, was going to a loud, crowded space where he can be hit on and pushed into doing illegal activities. Sounds exactly like something he’d enjoy a lot.”

“Look,” Courfeyrac said, temper rising. “They were not all like that. Most weren’t. Most were just gatherings with me and my friends, small, intimate affairs where we talked and played games and watched movies had fun. Enjolras liked them.”

“Right,” Combeferre snorted, sounding sarcastic and sure enough that Courfeyrac looked over to Enjolras for confirmation.

“I never minded them, Combeferre. Why are you—”

“So you're the reason he seemed to think that it was a crime to enjoy himself at college.” Courfeyrac interrupted, heart beating wildly. He hadn’t gotten into a real argument with someone in years. He hadn't anticipated this, not at all.

“I’m the one that helped him get into law school, not the one that almost helped him fail out.” Combeferre said, deadly calm, eyes baring straight into him. Before Courfeyrac could refute that, Enjolras cut in.

“Combeferre,” He said, voice sharp. “That night was more my fault than his, as you well know. As you also know, he helped me study and with my classes all throughout college, and is a big reason I kept with it.” Courfeyrac’s heart was still pounding, but he couldn’t help feel a rush of gratitude for the defense.

“Right. What I know, is that all for the four years you were at law school, I got treated to the thousand plays of Courfeyrac. The man who is unable to make a decision, loves anyone who steps foot into his room without thought or measure, seems unconcerned what bed he lies in, enjoys frivolities far too much—”

“That is _enough_ ,” Enjolras snapped. “If you’re going to be like this, you can just leave.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” He stood from his chair, and turned to Courfeyrac. “Well, it’s been lovely meeting you,” Combeferre said, voice icy enough to make Enjolras flinch through his horrified expression. He turned on his heel, stalked out of the room, and slammed the door shut, making the bell on top of it ring for a good twenty seconds from the force of it. Enjolras and Courfeyrac sat in stunned silence, until Courfeyrac swallowed loudly.

“Well—” 

“I have no idea what the hell that was,” Enjolras interrupted. “I’m so sorry. I’ve known him for over thirteen years, and he has never once acted like that.”

“I guess I just bring it out in him.” And at that, he burst into tears.

“Oh, Courf, no,” Enjolras said, hurrying over to put an arm around him. “I’ll talk to him. Something else had to have been going on, he wouldn’t normally be like that.”

“You know what, no,” Coureyrac said, shrugging off Enjolras’ arm, and sniffling away his tears. “Fuck him. I didn’t deserve that, no matter what’s going on.” He rose, and stalked out of the café, pace just under what would be called running away.

“Well, fuck,” Enjolras said. He was tempted to just sit there all day and wallow, but with all the commotion they had caused, he could see the employees considering whether or not to throw him out. With a sigh, he left a $40 tip, and trudged out, not sure which one he should begin talking with.

* * *

 At the incessant rapping at his door, Combeferre knew exactly who it was, which meant that he should probably face the music instead of trying to suffocate himself with his pillow and self-loathing. Groaning, he sat up from the couch, walked to the door, and threw it open. Unsurprisingly, it was Enjolras.

“You got here fast,” He said, moving away from the door.

“Well, yes, after the two minutes I spent trying to convince Courfeyrac that he is not an awful person and something just must be wrong with you today before he ran out, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Would ‘I’m sorry,’ suffice?”

“Yeah, no,” Enjolras said, voice as steely as it had ever been around him. “You owe me – and Courfeyrac – an explanation.” Combeferre sighed, and threw himself back on the couch, but still didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras said, his voice gentle enough to make Combeferre look up.

“Why aren’t you angry?”

“I am,” Enjolras said. “Incredibly so. But I also know you, and I know that wouldn’t come unprovoked. That’s not you. Something’s got to be wrong. Is this about the living arrangements?”

“Not really,” Combeferre muttered.

“You need to talk to me. We haven’t really talked in ages.” Combeferre stayed silent. “This isn’t like you. You’re not a coward.”

“I don’t know,” Combeferre said, voice upset. “I don’t know. He makes me feel unbalanced.”

“How? You don’t even know him!”

“He’s everything I’m not.”

“What? Part of why I wanted you two to meet is how similar you are!” Combeferre stared at Enjolras, incredulous.

“For someone so intelligent, you are so oblivious sometimes. We are nothing alike.”

“You’re exactly alike where it matters. You both care about people, and are tolerant and intolerant of the exact same things. You have the same ethics and morals and character.”

“And he’s everything I’m not,” Combeferre said. He took a deep breath, looking at his hands. “He’s popular, and nice, and friendly. He’s kind where it matters. He’s successful. He completed college. He has a well paying job. He has lots of friends. He’s adorable. He dresses well. He’s what I’ve never been able to be.”

It was quiet in the apartment, sans the fish tank in the corner blurping away. Enjolras moved, and sat next to him.

“I’ll get to the fact that none of that is true in a minute, but why would you let jealousy make you be mean?”

“Self-preservation? If he hates me for being someone I’m not, he won’t hate me for being who I am?” Combeferre looked away from his hands, to see Enjolras staring at him. “Can you stop with the sad eyes? I’ll apologize to him, I swear."

“You’re nice, and friendly, and kind, and successful, and have a job, and dress well, and are good looking, and have friends, you know. I don’t want you thinking any of that is an acceptable way to view yourself.”

“Over half of that was a blatant lie and the rest is only true under certain circumstances.” Enjolras reached behind him and smacked him on the head.

“No, it’s not.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Can I just call him and apologize? I know how much it meant to you, and I’ve been feeling terrible since I walked out of there. He deserved none of that.” Wordlessly, Enjolras grabbed his phone out of his hoodie pocket, pushed a couple buttons, and handed it over to Combeferre. He looked down to see that it was already dialing. He shifted his eyes over to where Enjolras was lounged in his armchair.

“What do you want, Enjolras?” Courfeyrac answered, voice sounding stuffy. Combeferre swallowed.

“It’s Combeferre, actually.”

“What do you want?” Courfeyrac said again, this time voice much flatter.

“To apologize. I’m dealing with some, uh, personal crises and I took it out on you, and that was completely unfair of me. You deserved none of it, and I know how important it was to Enjolras that we get along. So, I am incredibly sorry, and I’d like to possibly try again.”

“Look,” Courfeyrac said, after a painfully long pause. “I’ll pretend to accept this apology for Enjolras sake, but I don’t really want anything to do with you, okay?” Combeferre swallowed.

“That’s fair, yeah, okay.”

“So we will tolerate each other in his presence, but other than that, I’m good with completely ignoring your existence. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Combeferre replied, staring down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“Goodbye,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac just snorted and hung up the phone.

“So?” Enjolras said, tapping his fingers on the chair.

“He forgave me,” Combeferre lied. “We’re good.” Enjolras’ bright smile was worth it.

* * *

2 weeks later, and Combeferre was seriously regretting the lie. Enjolras had invited them both out to the zoo, and since he honestly couldn’t think a single reason of why not, he had agreed. After twenty minutes of stony silence and having his every word completely ignored, Combeferre could think of several reasons.

“So, Enjolras, what’s the last time you’ve been to the zoo?” Combeferre asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that had been hanging for at least five minutes.

“I went about two weeks ago, right after we moved back.”

“What, really?” Combeferre said, surprised. “I don’t think you ever went in undergrad.”

“Perhaps he’s changed since then. People do that, you know,” Courfeyrac interjected.

“Well,” Enjolras started quickly, before that could escalate. “I went with Grantaire. We bumped into each other at the Musain, and he took me to see the meerkats.” He frowned. “He compared my hair to a llama.” Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac barked out a surprised laugh.

“That sounds like Grantaire. Are you two getting along, now?”

“Better,” Enjolras responded. “We have real conversations. He’s sobered up and I’ve, uh, calmed down. A little.”

“Calmed down?” Courfeyrac said, incredulous.

“You didn’t know him in undergrad,” Combeferre said, shaking his head. “He was—”

“Not calm,” Enjolras interjected. “Let’s not treat Courfeyrac to my greatest hits. Point is, yes, I did have a nice day here, and thought you guys might like to come.”

“I’d love to see your llama doppelgänger,” Courfeyrac said, grinning. Enjolras frowned, which made Combeferre laugh.

“Don’t worry, Enjolras, you don’t look like a llama. Your hair is much more like the mane of a startled lion in the flaming of a halo—” Courfeyrac laughed as Enjolras elbowed him in the stomach, but quickly terminated it when Combeferre looked over. Small victories. 

* * *

 “You want to do _what_ now?” Enjolras asked, feet up on his coffee table, staring incredulously at Combeferre.

“Adopt a kitten.”

“Why?”

“I could use some company,” He muttered, which made Enjolras frown a little. “Do you want to come or not?”

“I’m allergic to cats.”

“Really?” Combeferre said, nose wrinkling. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“It has never been relevant. Take Courfeyrac,” he said, pointing behind him to where Courfeyrac was studiously ignoring them from the dining room table. “He loves cats.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Combeferre said slowly.

“You two should bond,” Enjolras said. “Really, he likes cats. He’d be a bigger help, I swear. _Courfeyrac_ ,” he called loudly, making Courfeyrac startle and drop his spoon.

“What?” He called back.

“Go with Combeferre and help him pick out a cat.”

“Uh,” he said, sounding blank.

“You already said you were bored and had nothing to do. Just help him out. Bond over cats and stuff.”

“Uh,” Courfeyrac repeated.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Combeferre said softly. “I would appreciate the second opinion, though.”

“Well, I’m not going to turn down looking at cats.” Courfeyrac said.

About ten minutes later, they were leaving the apartment together. The silence was stilted, awkward.

“Thanks for agreeing to come,” Combeferre said after a minute or so.

“I couldn’t have disagreed; Enjolras never would have let me get away with it. It was under no appreciation for you.”

“Right,” Combeferre muttered. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’m not forgiving you,” Courfeyrac snapped.

“I know. I understand,” Combeferre said. “You found your line. I can respect that.”

They stayed quiet after that.

 

“The grey one.” Combeferre said, pointing to the smallest, and obviously the most ugly of all the fifteen kittens. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“That one?” He asked, voice incredulous. “Why?”

“I am buying it for company, but it needs company too. The ugly ones tend to get overlooked, and thus need more love than most; I would know, trust me.” Combeferre was handed the kitten, which he held in two hands and raised to eye level. “Well, you’re adorable.” He said, deadpan. Courfeyrac snuffed a laugh.

“Was that a chuckle?”

“You didn’t hear anything.”

“Didn’t I?” Combeferre smirked. Courfeyrac hesitated.

“It was a moment of weakness. The kitten distracted me.”

“She is rather adorable, is she not.” Combeferre said. He turned to the saleswoman, who was watching with mild patience.

“I have one important question. Can she sit on my shoulder?” The women looked surprised, but shrugged.

“Probably. Give it a try.”

Combeferre placed her on his shoulder. She looked mildly terrified for several moments, but settled down with his calm voice and large hand petting her head. She sat up, looking around.

“Well, that’s good. I want a cat that will look at the world at my level. I’ll take her,” Combeferre said, slowly turning to the saleswoman, trying not to displace the cat.

“Wonderful. What are you going to name her?”

“Bast, maybe. Catullus? No, Hook, probably.”

“Oh fuck no,” Courfeyrac started. The saleswoman looked a little affronted, but he couldn’t summon up energy to care. “You cannot name a female cat after a male pirate in Peter Pan.”

“But I'm in a pirate phase. She perches on my shoulder like a parrot,” Combeferre explained.

“Then name her Polly?” Courfeyrac said slowly, like Combeferre was incredibly stupid. Combeferre stared.

“Oh, yeah, that’s better.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay,” Combeferre said, turning towards the saleswoman. “Polly it is.”

 

An hour later, Combeferre was dropping Courfeyrac back at he and Enjolras’ apartment, Polly safely tucked in the backseat along with over $100 of supplies. Courfeyrac cooed at Polly while unbuckling his seatbelt. He caught Combeferre’s happy expression.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Courfeyrac said.

“I know,” Combeferre replied, exasperated. “Trust me, I know.”

* * *

 About two weeks later, Enjolras invited Combeferre over for game night. Apparently it was a ‘welcome back to the city’ night, in a double effort to reconnect and introduce Courfeyrac to everyone they had been friends with in undergrad. Combeferre simultaneously wanted to be nowhere and anywhere else. When he arrived, most of the old justice group had already arrived.

“Combeferre!” Jehan squealed, running up and catching him in a large hug. Combeferre broke into a huge smile, and hugged back, despite the scowling look Courfeyrac gave him when he was at the door.

“How are you, dear?” Combeferre asked. “I see you’ve kept the braid from last month. Good choice.”

“Thank you. It’s worked well for me.”

“Combeferre,” Grantaire greeted him from behind Jehan, placing his chin on Jehan’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

“Still going, I suppose. And you?”

“Better, actually. It’s amazing what a new job can do for you.”

“Oh?” Combeferre asked, moving further inside. “What are you doing?”

“Elementary school teaching, now. Much improved from working 3 minimum wage jobs, let me tell you that. I don’t know how Feuilly doesn’t implode.” At the mention of his name, the three turned to look at Feuilly, who was currently in the kitchen, bending over laughing at some story Courfeyrac was telling. Combeferre’s heart hurt a little to look at it; Feuilly was usually so tense – it was so nice to see him relax.

“What do you think of the new guy?” Jehan asked, peering around Combeferre at Courfeyrac. Combeferre rested his arm on Jehan’s head, just to bother them, and smiled at the scowl he got in response.

“I like him a lot, honestly. I think he’s good for Enjolras.”

“I’d agree with that,” Grantaire said, who was now staring at Enjolras reenacting a scene from Star Wars with Bahorel.

“Let’s go say hi!” Jehan exclaimed, pulling Combeferre by the sleeve. He reluctantly followed, not wanting to hurt Jehan’s feelings.

“Hello! I don’t think we’ve met properly. I’m Jehan.” Jehan put his hand out to shake. Combeferre stared; this was a test, whether Courfeyrac knew it or not. Jehan was a complete sweetheart, but they gave absolutely no fucks to how people perceived them. Being the case, Jehan right now was wearing overalls over a painting smock, and had purple streaks and glitter in their hair. Courfeyrac bypassed the hand, and caught Jehan in a massive hug, spinning them around.

“I am Courfeyrac, darling. Has anyone told you that your shoes are totally dope?” Jehan beamed, despite the fact that Jehan’s shoes obviously were just converse that he had dipped into a yellow paint can.

“I know, right?” Jehan exclaimed. “Combeferre, say hi.” Jehan said, pulling on his sleeve.

“Hello, Courfeyrac,” he said, trying his best not to sound stiff.

“My, if it isn’t Enjolras’ favorite come down to mingle with the commoners.”

“Did you just quote the Lion King at me?” Combeferre said, quirking an eyebrow. Courfeyrac flushed.

“You weren’t supposed to catch that.”

“Always be prepared to catch a Lion King reference,” Combeferre joked. Courfeyrac squinted at him, like he wasn’t entirely sure that was on purpose.

“Are we doing puns now?” Grantaire slid up behind Jehan, placing his arms around their neck. “Because I can fucking do puns.”

“You must be R,” Coufeyrac said smoothly. “Enjolras has told me all about you.” Grantaire flushed, and retracted his arms from around Jehan to scratch at his stubble.

“He has? I promise I’m probably not as bad as he made me out, I swear. I only have my moments. Just most of these moments seem to happen when Enjolras is around.” Courfeyrac laughed.

“Most of it wasn’t bad.” Grantaire frowned.

“Then what the hell did he have to say?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Courfeyrac quipped, throwing a pretzel into this mouth. At that moment, Combeferre couldn’t help the incredible jealousy pushing at his chest once again. He was just so naturally _good_ with _everyone_. How can one person be so personable?

“Yes, I would. I would love to, actually.” Combeferre rolled his eyes, and cuffed Grantaire on his head.

“You know he likes you, stop fishing for compliments.” Courfeyrac frowned at this, but Grantaire brightened, just as Combeferre knew he would.

“Do you remember the time when you couldn’t have said that with a straight face? How far we’ve come, man. How far we’ve—Oh, that reminds me, how are the sleeves?”

“Great, actually,” Combeferre replied, rolling up his sleeves. “I still love them as much as ever, thanks.” He heard Courfeyrac take a surprised, deep breath. “What?” Courfeyrac had a wide-eyed expression, eyes caught on his tattoo sleeves.

“You have tattoos?” He said, voice not totally even.

“Yes, R here designed them for me back in his last year of undergrad. I hung over him from like, three weeks straight to make sure they were absolutely perfect. The left one is biology, and the right one is chemistry. R has one that is mythology, too, you should take a look.”

“Yeah, I’d love to, give me your arm now, R,” Courfeyrac said, roughly pulling down Combeferre’s sleeve, while simultaneously grabbing at Grantaire’s arm. “Oh, wow, lovely, look at that, grapes.” Grantaire side-eyed Combeferre, but he had no explanation for the sudden nonsense spilling out of Courfeyrac’s mouth.

“He’s very talented, is he not?”

“He definitely is, these are great. They even make Combeferre look okay.” At this, Jehan and Grantaire both frowned, but Combeferre ignored it.

“I think I’ll take my leave now, go see how everyone else is doing.”

“Please do,” Courfeyrac said, voice still tight.

Combeferre just sighed.

* * *

 “Combeferre, please tell me you’re not busy tonight,” Enjolras asked as soon as he had picked up the phone. Combeferre frowned, and threw down the magazine he was idly reading.

“No, not really. What’s up? What do you need?”

“Great, since you’re free, you’re coming with me and Courfeyrac to a club.” Combeferre’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“No, actually, I have laundry—”

“Bullshit, you already said you’re free.” Combeferre sighed heavily.

“Enjolras—”

“Don’t make me go without you,” Enjolras said, voice now pleading. “Courfeyrac has so much fun, and he wants to me to go with him so badly, but I just can’t take being left alone at the bar.”

“Okay, for you,” Combeferre agreed, already mentally cataloguing his wardrobe. He hung up a minute later, and was ready to go in twenty more. He decided on a button down, though he grimaced slightly at thinking of what Courfeyrac’s reply to it would be. But he wasn’t there for Courfeyrac, he reminded himself. He was there for Enjolras. Who, it seemed, was at his door.

“Hey, ready to go?” Enjolras said, after Combeferre had swung open the door.

“Yeah, let me grab a jacket, and we can go.”

“You might enjoy yourself, you know. You don’t have to sound like I am walking you towards a lion’s den.”

“Unlikely,” Combeferre muttered.

 

The club, by Combeferre’s standards, wasn’t bad. The music was slightly loud, but the atmosphere seemed relatively classy, and the people there didn’t seem too horribly drunk. Combeferre had gotten a drink for Enjolras and a water for himself, and was rather enjoying idly sitting at the bar and watching patrons. One, of course, who was Courfeyrac. Combeferre had assumed by ‘left alone at the bar,’ Enjolras meant that Courfeyrac would go around to different people, dancing and enjoying himself. That didn’t seem the case. He actually was going around talking to different groups, and more than once, Combeferre had seen him get a girl out of an awkward situation with a guy – situations that he wouldn’t have even noticed were happening, except one eye was trained on Courfeyrac the entire night. A fact, it seemed, that Enjolras did not miss.

“You can go talk to him, you know,” Enjolras said, chewing on his straw.

“Who?”

“Courfeyrac. I know you two still aren’t getting along well, which boggles my mind, honestly. Go talk to him, try to be friendly. I think he still thinks you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Combeferre sighed. “I just don’t know how to talk to him.”

 “Learn,” Enjolras said. “You’d like him, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Combeferre muttered. Because, even with all of their antagonism, he had many opportunities to see Courfeyrac at his relaxed, at his real self. That person Combeferre could see himself liking immensely.

“Let me get him over here,” Enjolras said, waving his hand wildly in Courfeyrac’s direction.

“Wait, no,” Combeferre panicked, tried to stop him.

“Too late!” Enjolras said, smiling a little too wide to be strictly sober. Courfeyrac bounded over with a massive smile.

“Are you ready to dance, now, Enjolras?” Combeferre narrowed his eyes at Courfeyrac.

“Enjolras doesn’t dance.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“Yes, he does. Get a rum and coke into him, and he’ll go along with anything. And you like dancing,” Courfeyrac whined, pulling on Enjolras’ shirt. “I know you do, you told me last time.” Combeferre stared at Enjolras.

“Is that true?” He asked.

“Maybe. Occasionally. It can be fun, Combeferre, sometimes. You should try it.”

“I look like floppy jello dancing, you know that,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac must have been drunk, because he didn’t even try to hide his laugh.

“Come on, Enjolras, join me and prove your friend wrong. We had fun at all those clubs, come on!” Enjolras smiled indulgently, and followed Courfeyrac out, where they proceeded to have an completely uncoordinated, but incredibly lighthearted dance. Or flailing of limbs, probably more accurately. Combeferre couldn’t help but note that Courfeyrac had danced perfectly well with other people, but was obviously matching his dancing with Enjolras’ skill level, probably so he wouldn’t feel bad.

He couldn’t help but sigh. He really wished Courfeyrac would move past their first meeting, because he was sort of an awesome person. Some mistakes were beyond repair, it seemed.

* * *

 A month and several more antagonistic meetings later, Combeferre was sitting behind his desk at work, pretending to read, but more accurately trying to think of something he could do to make Courfeyrac like him. Courfeyrac kept fueling the fire; whenever they began to get along, joke together, enjoy each other, Courfeyrac said something rude and basically ran away. It was like he was terrified of befriending Combeferre. Just the week before, they had gotten into a fifteen minute long discussion about the relative value of Marxist analysis of films. Combeferre had enjoyed himself immensely, and so had Courfeyrac, it had seemed, before Enjolras made a comment about them finally talking. At that, Courfeyrac insulted Combeferre’s jumper and literally ran away.

There was only so much Combeferre could do, but he was trying.

At the bell tinkling, Combeferre looked up from his novel to the door. He took a deep breath when he saw that it was Courfeyrac, holding a cup of coffee, and looking incredibly surprised to see him.

“Um, hello,” he said, cautiously moving inside. “Do you work here?”

“Yes, that’s why I’d be behind the cash register.”

“Don’t you have a med-degree? Why would you have to work at a bookstore?” Combeferre blinked at him.

“Enjolras has never told this story?”

“He said you studied nursing while he studied political science in undergrad. That’s all.”

“Well, I didn’t make it through college.” Courfeyrac blinked at him. “He really never told you this?”

“No. He constantly told me you were the smartest, hardest working person he knew. No, he never mentioned you were a dropout.” Courfeyrac snorted, making Combeferre look down.

“Yeah, well. Can I help you with something?”

“No, I want to hear the drop out story now.”

“I don’t think I owe that to you.”

“Perhaps not. But I’ll loiter around here until you tell me.” Combeferre rolled his eyes, and gestured at the seat across from the register.

“Whatever, it’s fine. I’m not ashamed of it, not anymore.”

“What made you quit?” Courfeyrac asked, sitting. “The work too hard?”

“No,” Combeferre said. “I was a 4.0 student.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes; it figured. “No, it wasn’t the work. I liked the subjects fine. It was the summer, and the fall semester of my senior year. I got this internship, you see, working as a nurse in the cancer ward in a hospital. It was really prestigious, and it was a high honor.”

“But what, the hours were too long? It was too hard in practice?” Combeferre stared at him, before sighing, long.

“You don’t have to be intentionally mean, you know. But no, it wasn’t any of that. It was the patients.”

“What about them? Were they awful? Always thinking they were smarter, that vaccines will kill them all?”

“No, I just hated watching them die.”

Courfeyrac went silent.

“I thought I could do it,” Combeferre said quietly, after a moment. “I honestly didn’t think it’d be a big deal. I’ve never been afraid of death, or seeing people die. Everyone said it was hard, but I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. But it is a lot different than I imagined. It’s not just watching people die; it’s watching people deteriorate. It’s the anguish on these people’s faces. It’s having to tell someone they only have six months, and seeing their face just crumble, with all their aspirations and hopes and dreams. If you think having to tell a mother that her child has a fatal disease is bad, just imagine having to watch as she comes in, day after day, spending time with him while she can, trying to keep up a brave face when he’s around, just to see her sobbing into her purse outside the bathroom. Imagine having to tell her the treatments aren’t working. Imagine the helplessness. I just…I couldn’t take it, after a while. I found myself dreading work. One day, I woke up, and my first thought was _retirement will be such a relief_. And that’s when I knew I needed to quit. I wasn’t going to spend the bulk of my adult life, another thirty years, doing something I despised.

“I didn’t have time to do another major, and I would have to keep the internship up for another 5 months to graduate. And I just couldn’t do it anymore. I gave up. I’ve never quite been able to forgive myself for that.” He went silent a moment, a silence which Courfeyrac did not fill.

“But I had been working everyday since I was basically 14, so I had money saved up. I got a full ride to university, so I hadn’t spent that much. It took me a bit to find this place, but I was a single man, and I had some saved up. I got a loan, and bought it on a whim. I don’t know why I picked a bookstore. I guess I just wanted something where people would be happy to come to; and what’s happier than books?”

“What indeed,” Courfeyrac answered, murmuring into his coffee.

“That’s my sad drop out story. I couldn’t handle the realities of life.”

“To be fair, I don’t know who could handle that and not get a bit depressed.” Combeferre bit his tongue on mentioning the commiserating, not wanting Courfeyrac to bite back.

“Well, you’ve done well for yourself, and your job is high stress as well, as I am sure was university, if Enjolras was any indication.”

“University was a stressed time, yeah.” He swallowed loudly. “Okay, thanks for story time, anyway. I am looking for a book.”

“I can help,” Combeferre smiled. “What kind?”

“Something not stuffy and law. Something to escape with in the bathtub.”

“Any preferences?”

“Something with adventures and romance and pirates and wishing on stars, preferably?” Courfeyrac glanced over, to see if there was any judgment, but Combeferre was just smiling slightly.

“Sounds lovely. Have you heard of Stardust?” Courfeyrac shook his head. “I’d suggest that one. Let me get it for you.” He disappeared in between a few shelves, and came back with a slim volume.

“Are adventuring books your favorite?” Combeferre asked, as he handed it over.

“Yeah. Sometimes I go outside, and look at the stars, and just think of how big the world is, and how much there is to do and how many adventures there are to be had, and I just feel incredibly boring and unsatisfied. And so I read, and I can live vicariously through these people. Take a voyage, shoot to the moon, travel in a forest, live in a cave, romp with dragons, fight a windmill – anything. I can ignore the stuffy adult I have become.”

“I don’t think you’re a stuffy adult.”

“Really?”

“Oh, I think you’re in pretty good shape when you look up at the stars and still think of adventure.” At that and Combeferre’s little smile, Courfeyrac felt something lock into place, some little hole inside of himself that he just filled, perfectly. Something warm. Something he desperately wanted to ignore.

“I’ll buy the book, thanks,” he said, grabbing it out of his hands, and hurrying so he could run out the door.

* * *

 “Hey, I bought you a sandwich.” Courfeyrac said, banging the door open to the shop. Combeferre visibly startled, before staring confusedly at him.

“Oh, thanks,” he said, a little baffled.

“It’s a thank you for the book. I liked it.”

“I’m glad,” Combeferre said warmly. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“I texted Enjolras to get your order. He’s thrilled we’re finally ‘getting along.’” Combeferre shrugged.

“We did manage to have a complete conversation. It was miraculous.” Courfeyrac bit his lip to keep from giggling at the deadpan tone.

“Do you have any other recommendations for me?” Combeferre squinted at him.

“Have you ever read the Princess Bride?”

“You think I have made it to this age without reading the Princess Bride? Inconceivable.” Combeferre let out a bark of laughter, which made Courfeyrac feel a little proud, for reasons that were probably pathetic and shall not be mentioned aloud. Ignoring it, Courfeyrac jumped on his desk, legs swaying back and forth. “Any others?”

“Recommendations? Hundreds,” Combeferre said, biting into his sandwich.

“What kind of books do you read?” Courfeyrac asked, a little curious despite himself. He had to remind himself constantly that this wasn’t a person he liked, a person he respected.

“Oh, this and that. Probably thanks to school and Enjolras I have a love of far too complicated novels. Tolstoy, Dickens, Foster-Wallace, the classics. I used to read literary criticism in high school in my downtime.”

“Figures, as he said you were basically friendless.” Combeferre looked hurt at that, and Courfeyrac bit his tongue to stop from apologizing. The look made his stomach hurt, and he made the brief connection that insulting someone wasn’t supposed to make him feel this bad. And, if it did, perhaps it was time to stop.

“Well, be that as it may, I read a lot of that kind of books. Thick ones. Books were friends.”

“You probably think my genre preferences are stupid, then. Bad books with aliens and spaceships and fairytales.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” and if Courfyerac didn’t love him a little for that.

“Really? All throughout college, all the comments I got were _You’re in law school and you’re reading alien romance books? Aren’t you beyond that?_ ” Combeferre frowned.

“I despise that mentality,” he said. “Books are made for enjoyment. If you get enjoyment out of them, and they are doing no harm, they are doing their job. It doesn’t matter if it is a harlequin romance or a 1400 page novel about French politics; if it’s bringing some kind of visceral experience to its reader, it is successful. And trying to limit that to one type of ‘art’ is completely undermining what books do in the first place. If you like space romances, you should read them. If you don’t like Dickens, don’t read Dickens. It’s not a difficult concept to master, but literary snobs seem rampant in society.”

“People have yet to realize how many things don’t require their comment,” Courfeyrac agreed.

“Something people never really have mastered.”

“No, not at all.” Combeferre took another large bite of sandwich, and the conversation lulled for a few moments.

“Do you make money off this place?” Courfeyrac asked suddenly, looking around. Both times he had been in, no one else was around. He didn’t know where Combeferre lived, but he didn’t think it was in the nicer part of town.

“No,” Combeferre said. He didn’t seem inclined to continue.

“Care to elaborate?” Courfeyrac prompted.

“I don’t make any money off this place. Bookstores are a bad investment. I sit back here and do freelance work on my laptop, most days. I have enough skill in writing and enough knowledge in science to make a living off being a technical editor for science journals.”

“Wow, fancy.” Combeferre chuckled.

“Not really. It takes a lot of time for not a lot of money, but it works well enough for me.”

“Is that why you don’t date? Not enough time, not enough money?” At Combeferre’s stare, Courfeyrac added, “Enjolras says you don’t date.”

“Well, it’s less about that, and more about being too picky. I wasted far too much time trying to make relationships only with people who are perfect, when I should have realized all I really need is someone who laugh with and enjoy me for the rest of my life. And now that I’ve realized that, it’s rather hard to find.”

“You have a hard time finding someone interested?” Courfeyrac said doubtfully. Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“Duh.” That didn’t seem like a _duh_ to him, but Coufeyrac wasn’t going to push it.

“If it’d make you feel better,” he starts, not really believing he’s actually going to bring this up. “I could tell you the disastrous way my last relationship ended.”

“Sure,” Combeferre answered, sounding far too interested.

“Okay, so, basically, she said that she wanted someone who would romance the hell out of her. So I tried. I tried writing poetry, sending her flowers, drawing her pictures, serenading her. But I _suck_ at anything fine art related, so it was all a disaster. And finally, one night about a month in, I go up to her room, and I say, “Look, I can’t draw and I can’t sing and I can’t write – but I will love you and talk with you at 2 in the morning, and I will care for you more than anyone else will – is that enough?” And she looked me in the eye, and said “No.” And shut the door.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Combeferre said, looking a little stunned.

“Yep. That one felt great. Really had to re-evaluate my life there. The joys, the sorrows, the roads not taken. Really regretted never learning how to write a sonnet or play the recorder.” Combeferre barked out a laugh, but tried to cough to cover it.

“Wow, that’s, uh, sad.”

“Not the highlight of my romancing career, true enough.”

“Do you want to go get coffee?” Courfeyrac stared at him in surprise. “No one is going to come in, probably, and I could use a drink after this sandwich. Do you want to come?”

“Sure, I suppose,” He said uneasily. He jumped off the desk, and followed Combeferre out.

 

As they were walking up to the shop’s register, a girl whom had just received her coffee was spinning away from it. She turned into Combeferre sharply, crashing directly into his chest. Her mug of scalding cappuccino flew all over his upperbody before falling to the ground and breaking. There was a moment of tense, surprised silence, before the girl started to panic.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” the girl hyperventilated, clutching at his shirt. “Are you okay? Are you okay? I am so sorry.” After collecting himself slightly, Combeferre smiled at her.

“It’s okay,” he said, gently prying her hands off his chest.

“No, it’s not, that was hot and it’s all over you, I am so sorry, I am so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Combeferre reassured her, voice firm and soft. “I really don’t mind.”

“How could you not mind, that was hot and your shirt—Oh God, where are napkins?” She gesticulated widely, and started to turn around, mannerisms leaning towards frantic.

“Hey, hey,” Combeferre said, holding her wrists. Her eyes, wide blue eyes with smudged black eyeliner, turned to him. “Relax. It’s one shirt, and it can be washed. It wasn’t your fault. Let me get someone to clean this up, and let me buy you a new cup of coffee.”

Courfeyrac loitered by a table, rapping his fingers, watching Combeferre talk the girl down, and miraculously, send her out the door with a smile on her face and a new cup in her hand. After she exited, looking a little worse for wear but no where near the apologetic frantic she had been in before, Combeferre took a deep breath, and walked back to Courfeyrac. He grimaced slightly.

“Looks like I am going to need a slight detour before going back to the shop, unless you happen to have a shirt stashed away somewhere.” Courfeyac wordlessly shook his head. Combeferre sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

“That was nice of you,” Courfeyrac said after a moment, watching Combeferre dab his chest with some napkins. At his slightly blank look, he elaborated. “Buying her a new cup of coffee. Reassuring her it wasn’t her fault. Was nice. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“What else would I have done?” Combeferre said blankly. Courfeyrac shrugged, and went back to rapping his fingers on the table. He watched silently as Combeferre tried his best to clean off his shirt. Finally, he took a long sigh.

“It’s pointless. Anyway, ready to order?”

“Why were you so nice to her, but you hated me immediately when I did the exact same thing to you?” Courfeyrac blurted. Immediately he squeezed his eyes shut, regret already lacing through him. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“What?” Combeferre said, sounding as perplexed as Courfeyrac had ever heard him. He opened one eye, and saw an expression to mirror the tone. He sighed, and opened both his eyes. Might as well be honest, since he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Back when we met, and I dropped my coffee on your head. I get that it probably was a bit more painful, but you hated me over it, when Enjolras really wanted you to like me. And this random stranger did practically the same thing and she is forgiven immediately? What gives?” Combeferre stared, a little horrified.

“I didn’t hate you because of that.” Combeferre said, baffled. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I didn’t even hate you, technically.” At that, Courfeyrac raised both eyebrows. Combeferre sighed, which felt like something he was doing a lot of today. “Take a seat.” Courfeyrac obliged, sitting across from him. After a moment, he made a ‘continue’ gesture.

“Okay, well, to be clear, I never hated you, and if I did, it would never have been over something as trivial as accidental clumsiness.”

“You cannot expect me to believe that. We were supposed to meet for months, you were excited, I drop coffee on your head, and then you are incredibly rude to me. Cause and effect.”

“No,” Combeferre said, running hands through his hair, making it stand on end. “I was never excited to meet you.” At Courfeyrac’s hurt expression, he continued. “Okay, look, I am doing this very poorly, but the truth was, I was really, really, horrifically jealous of you. And when we met, I was trying my best to overcome it for Enjolras’ sake, but I am not always as nice or good as I should be. And you made me incredibly nervous, and when that partnered with me feeling threatened, I lashed out. It was nothing personal, and I promise, it had nothing to do with the coffee. If anything, that made me want to be nicer to you.”

“Why in the hell would you be jealous of me? Especially before we met?” Combeferre shot him a disbelieving look. “What?”

“Enjolras?”

“What about him?”

“I was horrifically jealous of your friendship with Enjolras?” Combeferre said, like it was obvious. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide.

“You have a thing for—”

“No,” Combeferre interrupted, sounding mildly horrified, to Courfeyrac’s odd relief. “Not a thing. Okay, look, for this to make sense, you got to know that for most of my life, he was all I had. I was alone for all of my younger years, and I was bullied. In middle school I found Enjolras, and in high school I pulled myself together into someone I could respect, if not almost like, much due to him. But I was still incredibly awkward and incredibly ugly. All I had was him, he was the only person who tolerated me, let alone liked me. And then he left, and he was still all I had for a while. But he had you. Whenever he talked about university, all he talked about was you, and how much he liked you, and how much he trusted you, and how great you were. But he never introduced us, and I still had no one else, so I just felt like I was losing the only important person in my life. And you just seemed so different from me, and that he liked you so much was…it was really troubling, if I am going to be honest. He just liked you so much, but you and I are complete opposites. It made me question if he even liked me, or if I was just one of his projects, befriending the sad bullied kid. That turned into one of our biggest fights, which you may remember from Enjolras’ side.” Courfeyrac did. He had never seen Enjolras such a mess, and to that point, and never thereafter, had seen him cry. He hadn’t known what to do, and had wished desperately at the time that he was Combeferre, and had known Enjolras long enough to understand how to comfort him. “Anyway, that’s when I decided I needed to get more friends, stop relying on him so much. And I did, as you can see. But he’s still…he’s still Enjolras, you know. The person who made me who I am, believed in me, and still is my number one person. And when he was coming back, and I met with him, and all he could talk about was you, all of the feelings just came rushing back. And I’ve probably never properly apologized enough for that, and I want to, because I am so sorry. I am sorry I made you think it was your fault. I’m sorry that I apparently came off as so bad a person you thought I’d hate someone over being clumsy. I’m sorry I was mean, and rude, and made these last three months hell.”

“To be fair,” Courfeyrac said weakly, “I didn’t help much these past three months. You’ve been trying to bury the hatchet and I keep digging it up and throwing it at you.”

“I deserve it.” Ten minutes ago, Courfeyrac would have agreed. But now? Now he knew a story that seemed incredibly understandable, and he suddenly felt like a complete asshole.

“I thought you hated me. Like, me, as a person. After everything you said about being a bad influence on Enjolras, and how you criticized all my personality traits, I really thought you hated me as a person.”

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre said, hands tightening and loosening from where they were gripped on the table.

“You killed my confidence.”

“Is you confidence even killable? It’s one of the things that bothered me so much about you. You always seemed so confident and unflappable in who you are, and I’ve just never been that way. And I was maybe a bit jealous of that too.” Apparently, it was honesty hour, so Courfeyrac might as well lay it all on the table.

“I wanted you to like me so badly,” Courfeyrac confesses. “I’ve never had someone so important to me as Enjolras in my life. I’ve had a lot, a lot, of people come and go, but nobody stays interested to stay for the long haul. They were more into causal relationships and friendships than anything solid. And then Enjolras comes along, and he does not do casual. And he suddenly liked me for who I was, and it was just…It was life changing, as I am sure you know. And you,” Coufeyrac chuckled, a sad lint to his voice. “You. You were his favorite person in the world. All he talked about at uni was you, practically. And when we were finally going to meet, all I wanted was to matter to another person, the most important person to my favorite person. I felt like, if you liked me, then it would validate that Enjolras liked me. That he had a reason to like me. That I deserved friends, ones that would stay.”

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre said weakly. Courfeyrac tightened his fists.

“And you hated me. It killed my confidence, really. Because he thought so highly of you, and you didn’t like me - what does that say about me? It just. I was so upset, because how could you tell so quickly that I was worthless? But then, then, I just became so angry. Because fuck you, I was friends with him for years, and we still are friends even though you disapproved, so I still have him, so fuck you. It’s not like you could tell who I was anyway by one meeting. Other than clumsy.”

“I am so, so very sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Courfeyrac said, finally daring to look into Combeferre’s eyes. “I think we know where we both were coming from now. We both handled it badly.”

“I handled it worse.”

“You handled it much worse,” Courfeyrac agreed, making Combeferre’s grin.

“I’m so sorry, still, though. I’d like to be friends now, if it is any consolation. And I never hated you - I never could. Who could hate you?” The problem wasn't, Courfeyrac didn’t say, getting people to like him. It was getting people to love him.

“Friends it is.” Courfeyrac replied. Combeferre smiled at him, which made a little something inside Courfeyrac’s stomach twist.

Well, maybe he didn’t have to reveal everything during honesty hour.

* * *

 “Hey, thanks for helping me,” Combeferre said, hands in his pockets. He seemed perfectly at ease, but Courfeyrac could see the slight strain of his smile.

“Of course,” Courfeyrac said. “Friends now, remember? Plus, we had been getting along decent enough before we made it official. Like, before, I made it a point to try and insult and keep hating you.”

“I’m sorry, again. If I wasn’t an asshole, we could have been getting along this well since the start.”

“Under the bridge,” Courfeyrac waved his hand, and was slightly surprised to find that he was being completely honest. “You said you needed help shopping?”

“Ah, yes,” Combeferre said. “I’ve got an important book conference coming up, you see, and all of my professional clothing is basically this.” He gestured down to his button up, slacks, and cardigan. Courfeyrac shrugged.

“You can pull it off. Plus, it gives you the ‘librarian’ vibe, which is sort of what you are.”

“Not really,” Combeferre said. “But whatever. I need a few actual nice outfits for presentations, and a suit. I haven’t shopped for myself in a long while, and I’ve never been all that adept at it.”

“Well, I can help you there,” Courfeyrac smiled. “Lawyers wear nothing but suits. Why didn’t you ask Enjolras, though?”

“You really think I want Enjolras’ opinion on which suits look best on me?”

“Fair enough,” Courfeyrac said. “Well, I’m sure we can find something that will emphasize those good looks you got going on. Shouldn’t be that hard.” Combeferre snorted. “What?” Courfeyrac asked.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about my appearance, I swear. I got over that years ago.” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I need to be making you feel better about how you look, considering you look like you walked off a runway.”

“Funny,” Combeferre said, voice stiff.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” Courfeyrac said. At Combeferre’s obvious discomfort, he continued. “Do you really not know what you look like? Do you not own a mirror?”

“Look, when I was in high school, I dealt with a lot of assholes, okay? And while they loved to criticize who I was, they mostly just picked on my appearance. My bad hair, my brown skin, my face, my eyes and glasses, my teeth, my ugly clothes, my too small ears, my small size. I got it all. I am under no illusions of what I look like.”

“And you don’t think you’ve changed at all in the, what, almost ten years you’ve been out of high school?” Courfeyrac asked. Combeferre shrugged.

“People don’t fundamentally change in their appearance.”

“What the hell,” Courfeyrac muttered to himself. “Seriously? Oh God, okay, Combeferre, sit down.” He pulled on his arm, leading him to a bench. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you’re hot. _Don’t argue_ , you can’t even see yourself. You say they made fun of you for your hair?”

“Yeah, it was in a bowl cut, thanks to my mother.”

“Yeah, well, now it is in an undercut that highlights your small ears, making them seem bigger, and also perfectly fits your appearance, and makes you seem rather badass. Next, you said your glasses? Have you changed them since high school?”

“Well, yes, of course—”

“Yeah, don’t know what you had before, these frame your eyes, and fit perfectly. Your eyes, by the way? Huge and big and beautiful. Your teeth are fine."

“I got braces sophomore year.” Combeferre muttered.

“Yeah, well, they are perfect now. Smile more, by the way, you should show them off. Also, your wardrobe? Fits you well, both in size and in temperament. You totally rock the elbow patches. What else?”

“Small size and skin,” Combeferre muttered, cheeks burning.

“You either had a massive growth spurt or everyone in your high school was a fucking giant, because you’re over six feet tall and could take me down with one hand. And anyone who makes fun of your skin color is just an absolute asshole. Also, I’m fairly certain you didn’t have these,” he tapped on Combeferre’s tattoo sleeves, “when you were in high school?”

“No, they were a college drop out present to myself.” Combeferre said.

“Trust me, they do not harm your appearance.” Courfeyrac viscerally remembered the first time he had seen them and had to reevaluate his entire libido. “So, basically, what I am hearing, is you were bullied in high school for things beyond your control. And when those things changed, you for some reason still believed the bullies were correct?” Combeferre said nothing. “Look, you’re hot. Trust me. Here, come here,” He pulled him up, and pushed him in front of a window of a store. "See your appearance? Try to look it at without all the bias. See how you rock the undercut. See your nice teeth, and your beautiful skin color.” Courfeyrac watched as Combeferre squinted at himself for a moment, before looking down at Courfeyrac.

“Maybe one day.”

“I’ll keep working for it,” Courfeyrac said, making Combeferre’s eyes get a little misty, which he hastily blinked away.

“Let’s go buy a suit or something, okay?”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said, smiling slightly. He watched Combeferre turn around, and awkwardly walk forward, before obviously stepping so he didn’t have to walk on a crack on the sidewalk. Courfeyrac couldn’t help grinning to himself, and following behind.

* * *

 “Hey, Courfeyrac.” Courfeyrac looked up to see Combeferre, who had obviously just walked into the café.

“Hello,” He greeted him, if a little sullenly. Combeferre frowned.

“Is something wrong?” Courfeyrac sighed.

“Not really, I am being dramatic. Do you want to join me?” Combeferre sat down in the chair across from him, still frowning.

“If it’s upsetting you, you aren’t being dramatic. What’s wrong?”

“I’m just upset. My mom called me this morning and told me that she wanted me to come home for my birthday, despite the fact that she lives about 1000 miles from here, and she wants me to pay for it, and she wants me to take the time off work. And she’s completely forgetting the fact that she almost kicked me out when I came out, and she did kick my little sister out when she came home with a girlfriend, and I don’t want to see her, and I don’t want to talk to her, but she’s family, and I’m expected to, and it pisses me off.  And I went out this morning, and I can’t even be properly upset because it is beautiful outside, and I got this stupid blueberry muffin, and I am angry enough that it should taste terrible. But it tastes wonderful and it makes me angry that it tastes so good when I am in so bad a mood, because how can I be in such a bad mood when this muffin tastes so good?”

“Let’s just take that away from you,” Combeferre said, reaching over and pulling the muffin away from Courfeyrac.

“Don’t you dare,” he snarled, grabbing it back.

“If it’s making you sad, you shouldn’t have to have it.” Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you want my fabulous muffin."

“You can neither prove nor deny that theory.” Combeferre said, trying his best to look innocent. Courfeyrac huffed a laugh, before looking down, dejected again.

“I know this is dumb. A lot of people had it a lot worse with their parents, and I should be happy my mom is trying to reconnect.”

“Not necessarily,” Combeferre said, lacing his fingers together. “If she has treated you badly before, you are under no obligation to want to put yourself in a situation where you instinctively know you could get hurt.”

“I guess,” Courfeyrac blinked. “But she’s my mom.”

“And some parents beat their children. Being a parent doesn’t automatically entitle someone to his or her child’s eternal respect. That can be lost as easily as any other form of respect.”

“Don’t you think I owe my mom the benefit of the doubt?”

“I think,” Combeferre said, leaning in. “That you know this situation far more intimately than I do. Do you think your mom has shown signs of wanting true forgiveness? Is she just asking you there because she misses you, not because she wants to apologize for the wrong she’s done you? If you don’t think she’s worth a 1000 mile trip, then you don’t have to go. You’re an adult, and she’s an adult. If you don’t want someone toxic in your life, you are under no obligation to keep them in your life, final answer. But if you think she’s changed, maybe it’s worth it in the end.” Courfeyrac blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the emotion that he had no idea where was bubbling from.

“You don’t think it’s selfish if I want to stay here with you and Enjolras for my birthday?”

“I think,” Combeferre said, tapping Courfeyrac lightly with his foot. “That you don’t have to justify what makes you happy.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac muttered.

“Pleasure,” Combeferre said. “Let me know what you decide, okay?”

“Do you honestly care?” Courfeyrac blurted. Combeferre started.

“Well, of course.”

“Why? It’s not your problem?”

“It’s your problem. Why wouldn’t I care?”

“Because my problems are stupid,” Courfeyrac muttered, ripping apart his muffin.

“They aren’t stupid if you’re struggling with them, final answer.” Combeferre replied. Courfeyrac felt fondness ripple throughout him. “I’m going to go get a muffin for myself, okay? We can talk more then.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac answered. Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder, and in that moment, Courfeyrac felt the fondness deepen a bit, into something much more intense, and much scarier. Ignoring it, he continued to rip apart the muffin, taking out every blueberry.

* * *

 “Thanks for coming to this. Even Enjolras managed to squiggle out of it, and he works here.”

“How did he get out of a work party, but I’m here?” Combeferre asked, taking a seat at one of the tables at the pub.

“I think he said he had the flu. Which is bullshit, since he was up eating kale salad when I left. No one eats kale if they have the flu.”

“Especially Enjolras. He gets insufferably whiny when he is sick.” Courfeyrac squinted his eyes at Combeferre.

“That’s good to know.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I should go mingle and things. Come with me?” Combeferre shrugged.

“Sure.”

 

“Egg-actly my point.”

“You crack me up.”

“You’re shell-fish.”

“Are you yolk-ing?”

“Eggscuse me?”

It had been about a half hour of painfully awkward work interactions, when Combeferre had ordered a fried egg on his hamburger. This, of course, sparked a rather lengthy conversation about egg puns, which was mostly ignored by everyone, until a gangly man that was usually six desks down from Courfeyrac interrupted.

“Do you ever stop flirting? Jesus.”

“What?” Courfeyrac said, as he felt Combeferre go stiff next to him.

“Maybe this is why you aren’t dating anyone. You flirt with everyone, man. It’s kind of ridiculous.” Before Courfeyrac could reply, Combeferre interjected, in that incredibly icy tone he had mastered so well.

“It comes with the territory of being charming, which is obviously why it is foreign to you.” Courfeyrac elbowed him in the stomach. “Also, I don’t think he flirts with _everyone_ , since he seems to have been ignoring you fairly well the entire night.” The man scowled.

“Oh, whatever,” He said, rolling his eyes and moving out of the booth. “Play Prince Charming. I’m getting another drink.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Courfeyrac said, the moment he was out of earshot.

“You really think I was going to let him talk to you like that?” Combeferre said, staring down at Courfeyrac. “You weren’t even flirting with me, and even if you were, it’s none of his business. You can flirt with as many people and whomever you like.” Courfeyrac swallowed down the comment that he actually was, sort of, kind of flirting with Combeferre, because that didn’t seem like it’d help anything.

“You seemed to mind at first, you know. When we met. That I was hopping beds—”

“Can we _please_ just assume whatever I said to you on that first meeting was borne completely out of jealousy and I meant exactly 0% of it?”

“Really?”

“Really.” Courfeyrac clinked his beer with Combeferre’s, and they sat back to watch the pub for a few minutes. “Do you think I maybe flirt with too many people?” Combeferre frowned down at him. “No, I want your honest answer. Do I lead people on?” Combeferre took a sip, looking thoughtful. Courfeyrac couldn’t help but appreciate that he actually seemed to be considering it.

“No,” He said, only after a few moments. “I don’t think you lead people on. You’re extremely eager and friendly, but you’re that exact same way with everyone. You’re one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met, in that aspect. Since you always act with the same kindness and enthusiasm with everyone, I don’t think it can be said you lead people on. If they see you with more than one person, they should understand that you don’t mean anything romantic by it.”

“Does that make me a bad person?” Courfeyrac asked.

“No,” Combeferre said, adamant. “It’s never a bad thing to be somebody who makes everyone feel like a somebody. That’s a wonderful trait to have, even if sometimes people do maybe get a little hurt that the feelings don’t run deeper. I guess the question for you then, is how to make someone realize they do run deeper.” Courfeyrac swallowed.

“That is quite the question.”

“You would have to make it really, really obvious, since you are the flirty type.” Combeferre said thoughtfully, while his hands were twiddling with a napkin. “Do you have a move you usually make?” Courfeyrac shook his head.

“I’ve rarely gotten to the point where someone is beyond a casual relationship.”

“Maybe just being blunt,” Combeferre said, staring at a light fixture. “Hey, I like you, date me.”

“That’s hardly romantic. I’d need to buy a book of Keats’s poetry, fold an origami heart, and write in the middle of it ‘you,’ and then when they look up, be holding a rose. That’s way more obvious and romantic.”

“I don’t think it’s more obvious, necessarily.”

“How else could that be interpreted?”

“There’s nothing more straightforward and obvious than “date me,” no matter what the gesture is.” Combeferre stared at him, the light fixture glinting off his amber eyes. Courfeyrac bit his lip.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

 They had just walked out of a Taco Bell, meeting up for lunch during Courfeyrac’s lunch break, when they both turned to hear a commotion near a lime green pick-up truck.

“Not now, you dick, I have class.” A blue haired college aged girl was pulling her arm away from a raggedy looking older man who was gripping her sleeve tight.

“We need to resolve this now, do you hear me?”

“No, I can’t miss class, I just can’t, _let me go_.” She kept pulling, at which point the man raised a hand, and backhanded her. The slap reverberated against the bricks of the building, at which point both Combeferre and Courfeyrac sped towards her.

“Hey, fuckhead,” Courfeyrac called. “Let her go.” The girl looked up, face a little red.

“Stay out of this, boys,” The man snarled, at which Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

“If you don’t let her go, this is quickly going to turn into a two against one scenario, which you will not come out of well. Move away.” He stared a minute, but let her arm go.

“Fuck you,” the man spat in her face, before stalking off.

“Hey, are you alright?” Courfeyrac asked the girl, voice now gentle.

“I need to get to class,” She muttered, and quickly turned, and got in the truck. They both jumped out of the way as she gunned the engine, and sped off. After a moment, Courfeyrac turned back to Combeferre.

“If I were a dragon, I’d eat people like that. Exclusively. What a douchebag. He’s probably going to bother her again after class. Do you think we should call the police?” Combeferre shook his head.

“There’s nothing they could, or would, do.” Courfeyrac’s shoulders slumped.

“Yeah,” he said, kicking his shoe on the pavement. “That just sucks.”

“You’re very brave,” Combeferre said, apropos of nothing.

“Huh?”

“You’re barely 5’6”, and yet you charged that man, without thinking about if I was coming, or anything.”

“He slapped her. You wanted me to wait and see if he would pull out a fist too?”

“No, of course not. You’re just brave. It’s very, uh, admirable.” Combeferre said, scratching his neck.

“You charged him too.”

“I’m 6’3”. That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Maybe I secretly know karate.” Combeferre looked him up and down critically, which made Courfeyrac blush.

“I guess I could see that. You’ve always seemed like you’d be flexible.” Combeferre’s eyes widened. “Not that I’ve thought about that before. Your flexibility, I mean. That was first thought of in this conversation and context.” He coughed violently, and then stared up at the sky, rather unsubtly wishing that aliens would find it a good time to abduct him and save him from himself.

“Well,” Courfeyrac coughed, “Should we head back to my work?”

“Yes, yes, let’s do that now. Right now.” He sped ahead of Courfeyrac, so he could hide his incredibly flushed face. Courfeyrac silently padded behind him, smiling at the ground.

* * *

 “Are you okay?” Enjolras said, shutting the door, staring at the lump that was Courfeyrac on his couch.

“Auughhhh.” Came the reply, which wasn’t overly reassuring. Enjolras toed off his shoes, and that sat by his head on the couch.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I came back from the movies with Combeferre,” he said into the pillow. Enjolras hummed.

“You know, it’s incredibly ironic to me that he was terrified he’d lose my friendship to you, when he’s ended up spending about 70% of his time hanging out with you.” Courfeyrac groaned loudly.

“How do you do it?” He said, still talking into the pillow. Enjolras rolled his eyes, and stood. He grabbed Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and without as much effort as he anticipated, flipped him over.

“Okay, now I can talk to your face. How do I do what?”

“Be friends with Combeferre and not gain stupidly sugary feelings for him?” Courfeyrac said, morose. Enjolras barked a laugh. “What?”

“It’s just funny to me. You’ve sat on this same couch complaining about him how many times before?”

“He’s just…” He whined loudly. “You know.”

“Sort of, I guess.”

“Seriously, how did you manage not to develop feelings for him?” Courfeyrac said, blowing his hair out of his face. Enjolras hummed.

“I think we’re far too similar. Plus, we’ve known each other too long. We just don’t have that spark that ignites the something more. He’s like an extension of myself, but not a complement to me, if that makes sense.”

“In a very you type way, I guess so,” Courfeyrac groaned. “He’s just.” He sat up. “Like, okay, come on. He’s so nice, like all the time, to like, everyone. Except when people are acting like assholes, and then he turns into this justice machine. And his private bookshelf is organized by lead character name, did you know that? And he takes me so seriously, it’s disconcerting. And his kitten perches on his shoulder, how is that fair? And his _shoulders_.” He turned back around, and yelled into the pillow for a second. Enjolras rolled his eyes again, before patting him on the shoulder.

“You should tell him.”

“What the fuck? No!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, sitting up fast enough to almost hit Enjolras in the head. “He doesn’t like me.”

“Did you not hear when I said that he literally spends like 70% of his free time with you? I think it’s clear he likes you well enough.”

“That’s because he’s trying to make up for being mean to me.” Enjolras leveled him with a rather insultingly disbelieving look.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Courfeyrac muttered. “No, I guess not. But there’s still a long way between that and being into me.”

“I can see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. I’d go for it.”

“How does he look at me?” Courfeyrac demanded. Enjolras just patted him on the head. “Hey, that’s not funny. How does he look at me?” This suddenly seemed like the most vital information in the entire world.

“Look, Courf, I am telling you that I think you should go for it. Even if he were to say no, he’d never be cruel about it.” Courfeyrac looked down, twisting his hands. “Hey, you know that when he first met you was literally a once in a life time happening, right?”

“No, it’s not about that. I’ve forgiven that. It’s just, like. Why? Why would he like me? He told me he hasn’t been with anyone for years. Why would I be any sort of exception?”

“Combeferre is notoriously picky about who he will give his heart to, let me tell you that. I think he’s scared of someone throwing it away. But you’ve already made the cut from all the time he spends with you, obviously, so I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’m still going to worry.” Enjolras sighed.

“Let’s go get frozen yogurt,” He said. “You can forget about it.”

“Good idea. Can we invite Combeferre?” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “What? He’s your friend too. Do you not want to spend time with him?”

“That is sort of defying the entire point, but sure, why not. Go for it.”

 

Thirty minutes later, they were all standing around the toppings in a Froyo.

“This was the best idea,” Courfeyrac said. “It is such a warm night.” And that it was. Summer had finally rolled in completely, along with its stifling humidity. The heat brought along a wave of sloth like behavior, weighing down limbs, making ice suddenly seem like a burst of life back into their over-heated heads. “Can you believe how many toppings there are? Heath bars, and fruit, and nuts, and sprinkles, and, _oh my God_ , is that marshmallow sauce?”

Combeferre wasn’t even trying to hide his fond smile, though he did give a valiant effort when Enjolras looked over, raising his eyebrows.

“Are you getting anything, ‘Ferre?” Courfeyrac asked, while still concentrating on adding exactly a centimeter of butterscotch sauce. “Or do you not want to mess up your meticulously swirled chocolate yogurt?”

“I want to look at everything first.” He said, moving down the line slowly.

“Why, when you know you will want everything?” Courfeyrac said, who did seem to be taking that theory to heart, considering his bowl was overflowing with toppings.

“I don’t want everything.”

“You don’t know how to live,” Courfeyrac replied.

 

Six minutes later, after Courfeyrac had coughed up $11 without batting an eye, they were squished into a booth, Combeferre and Enjolras on one side. Courfeyrac sat directly across from Combeferre, a fact that Enjolras gallantly didn't comment on. 

“What did you get, Enjolras?” Combeferre asked.

“Oh, you’ve both noticed I’m here?” Enjolras said, voice obviously teasing. Both boys blushed. “I got strawberry, with strawberry sauce, and strawberries. See?” He moved it so they could see, where, indeed, there seemed to be a lot of pinkish-red in one bowl.

“Sounds fair. Did you see our spoons?” Courfeyrac asked, lifting it from the bowl. “It turns blue when cold! I mean, really, how cool is that? Science has come so far! They didn’t have this in the 1940s. They just had polio and completely boring spoons.” Combeferre laughed, while Enjolras just rolled his eyes.

“We have better advancements that just spoons, you know.” Enjolras began.

“Right, like polio vaccines. I’ve already mentioned that.”

“That’s not all I meant—”

“I am going to head to the bathroom before you start the justice rant,” Courfeyrac said, making Enjolras scowl. As he headed out, Enjolras snuck a look at Combeferre, who was staring at the spot Courfeyrac just vacated.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. He just gets so enthusiastic about things.”

“Like spoons.” Enjolras said, nodding. Combeferre groaned, and put his head in his hands.

“He’s the most fucking adorable human being in the world. You could have warned me a little, you know. His big green eyes and his forever purple socks and his fervent love of the world, and he’s about as tall as an elf, Jesus Christ, you could have warned me.”

“I didn’t know that’s what did it for you.” Enjolras said, licking his spoon. “You didn’t date in high school, and barely in undergrad.”

“Well, apparently, it’s boys who get distracted by fireflies and make us follow them for fifteen minutes when it is 85 degrees at night.”

“Figures it would have something to do with bugs. You and moths.”

“My weird childhood obsessions are not the point. The point is that you didn’t warn me that Courfeyrac is,” he flapped his hand in the air, looking a little deranged. “You know, like that.”

“I told you you’d like him several times.”

“I just wish there was some magical words I could speak that would make him want to keep me forever.”

“You may have already spoken them.” Combeferre’s head shot up so fast that Enjolras visibly startled.

“What does that mean?"

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Enjolras, fuck off, what does that mean?”

“You just spend so much time together—” Combeferre visibly deflated.

“So he hasn’t said anything?”

“I don’t think it’d hurt if you said something.” Enjolras said, biting into a strawberry. Combeferre laughed, which turned increasingly desperate as the seconds ticked by. After around twenty seconds, Enjolras was staring at him with concern.

“What’s so funny?” Courfeyrac said, coming back from the bathroom. Once again, Combeferre’s head shot up.

“Nothing!” He screeched, too loud.

“What’s your opinion on moths?” Enjolras interjected, trying to deflect from the questionable sanity of his friend.

“They are better than butterflies…?” Courfeyrac said, sinking back down into his side of the booth, staring at both of them with confusion. Combeferre kicked Enjolras under the table, but his creeping smile was thanks enough.

* * *

 “This is fucking ridiculous. I refuse to listen to this anymore. This is seriously just fucking ridiculous.” Courfeyrac stared in surprise as Enjolras slammed down his coffee mug.

“Sorry about talking about my feelings?” He said, trying to sound hurt, but he was mostly bewildered.

“It’s not only you, I was on the phone with Combeferre for two hours last night, and just…Oh my God, will you make a move? He never will because of how you met and he thinks he still has to make up for something, and other Combeferrian reasons that for some reason he thinks is reasonable. And I can’t take this for much longer. It’s too hot to deal with this kind of frustration. Just ask him out.”

“But—”

“Fuck off, he’ll say yes.”

“But are you—”

“I can’t do this,” Enjolras said, putting his hands up. “I’m going to go out. When I come back in six hours, I would love if you resolved this. Really, it’d be very nice.” With that, he grabbed his keys, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door.

“Well, okay,” Courfeyrac muttered to himself. He grabbed his phone, and sent a text asking Combeferre to come over in two hours, which should give him sufficient time to take a shower, prepare what he was going to say, and have a mental meltdown. When he got a text in the affirmative, he grabbed his wallet, and went out.

Almost exactly two hours later, he was amidst his anticipated mental meltdown. His only consolation was that there was no way that Enjolras would put him in a situation where he would get hurt; he simply didn’t believe it. When the knock at the door came, he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and opened it. He smiled at Combeferre, who was in a black T-shirt and jeans. His eyes widened a little bit after looking at Courfeyrac.

“Was I supposed to dress up?” He asked.

“No, this is me being stupid. Come in.” He moved aside, ushering him inside.

“What did you want to do today?” Combeferre asked, hands in pockets, smiling down at him. Absently, Courfeyrac noted that he was glad that Combeferre took his advice and started smiling with his teeth more. They really were nice.

“I actually got you something. It’s on the table.” Combeferre looked surprised, but moved to go take a look. Whatever it was, it was inside a bag.

“There’s something inside of the present too.” Courfeyrac muttered behind him.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“You’ll get it when you open it. I hope,” Courfeyrac said. Comebeferre just smiled at him, and took it off the table. He reached inside, and pulled out a book. His breath caught when he saw the title.

_The Great Poets: John Keats_

His heart hammering, he opened up the first page. Where a small, red origami heart was placed. Unable to stop smiling, he opened it, to see the word YOU written directly in the middle. Biting his lip, he turned.

Courfeyrac was standing behind him, holding out a rose, and staring holes into his shoes.

“Courfeyrac,” he started.

“Obvious enough for you?” Combeferre let out a strangled laugh, which made Courfeyrac look up.

“Romantic enough, too.” Combeferre said, voice soft and fond.

“Just in case, though. Hey, I like you, date me.” Combeferre laughed, and pulled Courfeyrac into a tight hug, pulling his head onto his shoulder.

“Is that a yes?” Courfeyrac asked, after a few moments, muffled slightly by speaking into his shoulder.

“That is a hell yes,” Combeferre said. “That is a forever yes.” Stepping back slightly, he stood within breathing distance of Courfeyrac. He let out a little, helpless laugh when Courfeyrac stepped on top of his toes.

“So I can reach,” He murmured.

“Okay,” Combeferre said, leaning his forehead against Courfeyrac’s, before leaning in to capture his lips.

As first kisses went, it was just as sloppy and as uncoordinated and unpracticed as one would expect. But what it meant for them, the feelings behind it, the months of pent up emotions, the feelings strangling their hearts, had them both gasping in, grabbing each others hair, pulling, floating, trembling.

“I think that is quickly going to become my favorite thing,” Combeferre said. “It figures you’d be excited about kissing too.”

“As it figures you’d be excellent at kissing, as well as everything else.” Courfeyrac responded, breathing on his lips. Both men were breathing hard, their chests pressing against each other, feeling each other’s hearts beating and lungs breathing in air.

“Do you want to kiss again?” Combeferre asked. Courfeyrac stared up at him, green eyes meeting amber, and feeling as unbearably fond as he had of anyone in his life.

“Yeah, I think that’s something I can always agree to.”

The sun was setting, Enjolras was due home in four hours, and neither had eaten for at least six hours, but they finally had permission to be as silly over the other as they liked - so it wasn't the time for moving. It was the time for kissing, and caressing, and hugging, and giggling - and more than anything, loving. And so they leaned in again.

**Author's Note:**

> I've come to realize that my fics are basically just like, 10,000 words of people falling in love and talking about stupid, every day stuff they do, and have like, 0 plot.  
> Maybe I'll fix that one day?  
> Like, maybe? Probably not.
> 
> Kudo/comment if you'd like, it's always great encouragement, but if not, have a splendid day, and rejoice that it is no longer winter! Unless it's winter where/when you are. If so, sorry.
> 
> Say hi on [tumblr](http://raeldaza.tumblr.com) if you so want.


End file.
